Drowning
by Who Is Caligula
Summary: An asari paradise hides a terrifying secret.
1. Chapter 1

Drowning: A Mass Effect Story

By Who Is Caligula (2008)

-

Vorus was not impressed by the planet's vast, tropical oceans. He did not care for open spaces devoid of boundaries or walls or people. He did not relish the thought of basking in the golden sunlight. The metallic surface of his skin was not quite as impenetrable as it looked, but it afforded him natural protection from the solar radiation that would no doubt plague any pale little human that dared to set foot here without a proper environmental suit. The humans were pretty quick to adapt to new technologies, but that speed was what bothered him. They were clumsy and recklessly impatient, like salarian juveniles on cheap stimulants.

_Humans_.

Not the worst species in the galaxy, but far from his favorite. It seemed they were always trying to set up shop on new worlds before conducting proper investigations of the planet's geological and atmospheric compatibility. He remembered seeing a newsvid about human agricultural traditions, once. Hundreds of lives lost because some colony's atmospheric processing contrivances couldn't hold up to the weather, and they dismissed the catastrophe as "a preventable tragedy caused by corporate carelessness".

_Stupid._

Always trying to blame each other, never taking responsibility for their own actions.

"Hey, Vorus! I think we got something!" came the mindless chirp of his only human crewmember. Vorus could not question the peppy human's skill as a navigator, but he would want to get him replaced before the next harvest. Hopefully with a fellow turian.

"What is it now?" he grumbled, boots plodding through the soft soil toward his navigator.

"Just across from us. See that island, on the other side of the water?"

Vorus could easily see the tiny land mass that divided the endless sky from the endless ocean. He'd seen it several hours earlier, in fact. He remained unimpressed.

"What_ about_ it?" he demanded.

"There's a structure somewhere down there. Scanners picked it up easily enough. It's huge, like a fortress or something".

"Fortress", the turian repeated. He was not eager to invade someone else's territory, particularly if that someone had gone through the trouble of fortifying a defensive structure in the middle of an uncharted planet. This was not exactly a Citadel-friendly system, but it was still safer than the Terminus systems. Either the owners of this fortress had yet to introduce themselves to the galaxy, or they were hiding something.

"Can you swim?"

Vorus turned and stared at his human navigator for a full three seconds before responding.

"Can _you?_" Vorus asked, his tone dropping slightly.

"Yeah. My older brother was a pretty wild outdoorsman. One time-"

"I don't need to hear your family history, sir".

"Sir? Why do you even call me that, don't you know my name?"

"No. And I don't want to. Get back to the ship, and we'll have a look at this 'fortress' from a safe distance".

The human made a strange clicking noise with his tongue, and obeyed without further question. Vorus was glad. After the First Contact War, some humans thought themselves to be extremely powerful, and their egos swelled to absurdity. Human protestors back on Hegia had been a constant headache for Vorus. One pesky human was more than enough to keep him on edge.

The Tiber was technically a human vessel, but one would never know it once they set foot inside. The human engineers had been supposedly "inspired" by turian architects, so Vorus felt right at home. In fact, he wasn't ashamed to consider the Tiber his home away from home. Four days after debarking, one guest was already close to outstaying his welcome.

"Hey, there's an island off the peninsula up ahead, did you see it?"

"I _know_ there is an island, Mister Whitefield", came the speedy retort of Vorus's favorite crewmate. "I have been the captain's pilot for over a year, and I've spent most of my life in space. I _know_ how to read the displays and interpret all the pretty lights you see before you". Salarians were known for their intelligence more than their manners, and that was something Vorus could truly appreciate.

"Even you should have been capable of acquiring some vague concept of the planet's most basic geographic features in the moments it took us to land on this watery world. In fact, if you had bothered to perform your assigned duties with any measure of-"

"Hey, relax. I was just-"

"No, Mister Whitefield. Relaxing is something I do when I am not on duty. As I recall, your duty as the navigator of this vessel is to-"

"Fine, okay! I get it. Jeez".

The human stormed out of the cockpit like a temperamental child. The salarian pursed his lips and returned his attention to the orange lights that flickered under his swift hands. Vorus knew that his navigator was at least three decades old. This amount of time would have been more than sufficient, by salarian standards, for an individual to achieve some measure of wisdom and a well-developed sense of purpose. Then again, salarians were lucky to make it into their fourth decade.

Agitated salarians were often amusing, but seeing his pilot get flustered over the human was enough to bring a smirk even to Vorus's hardened features.

"Please, tell me you intend to find a decent navigator as soon as possible".

"You have my word", the turian captain gave his succinct promise. "You were saying?"

"Good. Well-" the salarian inhaled, a sharp sound that appropriately reminded Vorus of an unfurling pistol before an extensive firefight. "This peninsula is an extension of the planet's largest continent, and most of the surface is dotted with volcanic islands. Your 'fortress island' is relatively small, but there is plenty of room to land the Tiber along the beach if you want to take your chances. Personally, I would suggest sending an automated drone to investigate. If someone shoots it down, we'll have to assume the inhabitants desire privacy and just make a hasty retreat. That is, if they happen to spot our vessel from across the water".

"And if they do?"

"The Tiber is not within ideal firing range" Kylon shook his head, dismissively. "That's why I chose the peninsula as a safe landing zone. Even if they knew we were here and wanted to harm us, I can't think of_any_ reason they would have allowed us to sit here, untroubled, for the past few hours."

Vorus considered his pilot's crystalline logic as he stared out the port window. The great blue expanse appeared to be infinite, a fathomless abyss from every direction. Some species liked the bright, clear waters for vacationing and tourist resorts. Kylon had explained to him that prettier oceans were usually devoid of substantial biomass. Lush ecosystems tended thrive in darker, uglier bodies of water. Vorus was unsurprised, as the apparent vacancy of any uncharted world had always been disquieting for him.

Still, this fortress-like structure did pique his interest.

"Radio silence?"

"Quieter than my first night of mating, Captain. Small energy readings, but nothing big enough to be analyzed. Not at this range, anyway".

Kylon rarely bothered to intentionally deceive his captain. The turian was highly intelligent, but his mind could never hope to match the speed of a salarian's. That is why Kylon was perfectly comfortable activating the drone, and proceeding to bombard it with an extensive list of coordinates that covered what he suspected would be the biggest points of interest on the mysterious island. All the necessary calculations had been performed at a relaxed pace, during the bland insults he spat at the Tiber's incompetent navigator.

"Can the drone be controlled manually, from the Tiber?"

"Afraid not", the pilot replied. He was already capable of anticipating his captain's official orders; he only allowed the fully-loaded drone to idle quietly, however. It was not until Captain Vorus gave the official dispatch order that Kylon sent the floating bugger on its way. He could have given the drone a head start while the captain stared ponderously out into the oceans, but the salarian's respect for his captain was great enough to stop him from indulging the impulse to initiate a premature launch.

"Do it", the captain ordered. Kylon waited a full four seconds before speaking for dramatic effect.

"Drone is away. Top speed, and it should be hitting the first waypoint in just a few minutes", the salarian tried to keep his sentences as concise as he could manage, knowing that his captain preferred efficiency over meticulous details. He stood from his seat, and stretched the aching muscles of his arched back. Dramatic displays of exhaustion were crucial, in his experience, in order to appease stern taskmasters. Kylon estimated that he had enough energy to run several laps around the exterior of the Tiber before feeling even slightly winded. He was not in the mood for a jog, however.

"Hopefully these things will be worth the price we paid for them".

"They were_inexpensive_ models, Vorus. You told me to purchase the best I could find within the limitations of the budget, and that's exactly what I did".

The turian sighed, smoothing the creases in his antiquated uniform as he passed through the hall leading to the Tiber's plush operational center. The hall was only a few meters long, and although its concave walls offered plenty of elbow room, Kylon elected to follow his captain at a sluggish pace like some deformed subordinate.

"I assume they have some form of kinetic barriers?"

Kylon suppressed a chuckle in response to his captain's blatant ignorance of his own vessel's technological array.

"Yes, Captain. Financial resources restricted us from acquiring military-grade drones, of course. Larger battery packs allow the shields to maintain steady strength under substantial atmospheric stresses. Blizzards, electrical storms, that sort of thing. If someone really wanted to shoot it down with a micro-mass accelerator firearm of some kind, I doubt the probe could withstand more than a few rounds, or in the case of-"

"Alright, Kylon. A simple 'yes' will do", his captain's interruption had taken him by surprise. The captain was normally very curt. Kylon decided that the planet's relentless sunlight, coupled with the irritating behavior of the new navigator, befouled his captain's mood. The salarian was untroubled, though. He dwelled on potential meal options as he trotted after Vorus, muting his internal monologue only once the impressive central display flickered to life in response to the captain's deliberate keystrokes.

"Signal delay is negligible. Input channel two", the hungry salarian offered his assistance with forced brevity. The turian fumbled at the control panel for several long seconds before speaking.

"Two. Got it. Controls won't disrupt the recording sequence, right?"

"Nope. I'm going to grab a snack, Vorus. Want anything?"

"I'm fine, thanks", Vorus waved a clawed hand at his pilot, his attention firmly planted within the view screen's control settings and display menus. Kylon expected the captain would be perfectly capable of managing the software on his own, but he left his personal comm active in the event that his expertise should be required.

Not that he needed to, really. Such a compact ship kept a majority of the crewmembers within earshot of each other. The Tiber was a much smaller vessel than any Kylon had piloted in previous years. He was hopeful the sudden shift in vehicular design would provide adequate challenge or at least maintain his interest for the duration of his service under Captain Vorus. Instead, he'd been extremely disappointed by the simplicity of the Tiber's architecture. In virtually every function, Kylon could not escape the feeling of having his hand held by some unseen entity that sought to mock his tremendous talents. The disgruntled salarian had mastered virtually every facet of the ship within the first few days of his service.

Lavish furnishing and pristine surfaces adorned the Tiber's interior, a laughable surprise for those who dared to climb the foreboding entry ramp. Despite being in fairly good condition, the streamlined patterns running across the outer hull lent the Tiber a strange, exotic appearance. When Kylon had first laid eyes upon it, he thought he was looking upon some ancient Prothean artifact. The Protheans were known for their mysterious technologies, and even a single tiny relic was capable of revolutionizing the standard of living for all creatures living both within and beyond Citadel space.

Technological features of the Tiber were not quite so revolutionary. The kitchen pantry, however, was phenomenal.

The scent of fermented egg paste struck the salarian's olfactory receptors like a gong on a dinner bell. Although tempting for any salarian, Kylon savored the aroma of a freshly torn packet like some snobbish diner for nearly five whole seconds. It was too pungent to be eaten alone, but Kylon enjoyed its traditional function as a salty condiment to set upon plainer foods. He rummaged through the cabinets, looking for something chewy and rich for the sharp paste to cut through. Contrast was a beautiful thing.

Benefits of a small vessel, Kylon noted to himself as he ripped open a carton of round, semisoft pastry rings. He never had an opportunity to experiment with exotic human cuisine during the course of his previous employment. Luxurious budgetary surplus on the Tiber was enough to satisfy even _his_ discriminating palette.

Kylon's brain never rested, but he enjoyed his lunch at a leisurely pace.


	2. Chapter 2

Charles Whitefield scratched absentmindedly at the tuft of black hair on his chin. He often felt lightheaded, and normally attributed it to the rigors of space travel. This stuff wasn't for the faint of heart, but Whitefield was only human. Maybe he just needed a small boost for his blood sugar. That would probably help him focus.

_Sugar._

The amber luminescence of his cheap omni-tool faded, and Whitefield trotted to the upper deck. Even before setting foot in the Tiber's fancy mess hall, he recoiled at the foul odor of rotten meat. It reminded him of an old fisherman's wharf, but it hardly mattered whether the bug-eyed sea creatures were living, dead, or decomposing. Whitefield hated all fish.

"What the hell_ is_ that?" the human asked of no one in particular. Even when he saw the startled salarian jump in his seat at the dining table, he remarked "It stinks!"

"Would you like me to tell you what it truly _foul_, Mister Whitefield?"

"No!" he shot back at the salarian, noticing the dark ooze that laced a cake-like confection in the alien's slender fingers. "Hey, is that one of my donuts?"

"Your what?" Kylon spat, wiry physique now standing erect and proud. Pale crumbs dropped from his mouth as he chewed on Whitefield's treasured treat. "This is _my_ lunch, human. I assembled it from the ingredients in _our_ pantry. If your kind were not so selfishly possessive, perhaps we would not-"

"My kind? There's nothing wrong with _my_ kind, pal", Whitefield crossed his arms and sighed, knowing his words were empty to the Tiber's second in command. He knew his place within the turian captain's rigid hierarchy, but why did they always have to rub it in his face?

Maybe leaving home for a brief adventure in space had been a bad idea.

"There is a great deal wrong with your kind, Mister Whitefield", the alien continued, heedless of the half-chewed pastry that muffled his words. "To begin with-"

Whitefield braced himself for the salarian's bitter diatribe, though the alien abruptly twitched his donut-free hand to adjust his personal communicator.

"Vorus?" he spoke to the invisible captain.

Whitefield set aside his frustration, listening intently.

"Yes", the salarian yipped. "Fine, alright! I'll be right there".

With that, Kylon stuffed the remaining donut between the width of his jaws and scrambled out of the mess hall.

Intrigued, Whitefield started after his salarian crewmate. He paused only to snatch the crudely opened donut box from the dining table. Torn between personal curiosity and petty selfishness, the human compromised by stuffing the rectangular box in the largest back pocket of his trousers.

_Problem solved._


	3. Chapter 3

"Probably just some puddle", Kylon said, frowning at the magnified image on the view screen.

"A puddle", Vorus repeated. "A small pool of water that lifts away from the building and appears to move of its own accord?"

"It is not unheard of", Kylon offered, squashing the impulse to spew what little he knew about geological and meteorological phenomena on exotic worlds. "However, there is always the possibility of organic life. A new species, if we're lucky enough to document it".

"It disappeared shortly after it became visible on camera", the captain reminded his pilot. "It might have seen the drone and scurried off. Assuming there is really something there to document in the first place".

"Whoa, hold on!" a new voice interrupted. "What are we documenting?"

Kylon started at the noise, while the turian captain fumbled at the controls. He could not find the proper key in time, and Whitefield saw the entire image at the drone camera's best possible resolution.

"Nothing!" Kylon barked belatedly. "Get back to your station, human".

The massive structure reminded the human of sandstone, only a few tones warmer than the surrounding terrain. Unlike the soft clays used to erect simple shelters, this fortress had angular corners and ornate surfaces lining the perimeter. Whitefield surmised that the architects gave special attention to detail. It was a strangely enchanting sight, like a castle of sand at the center of an island.

"Wow", Whitefield's beady eyes were already dancing across the view screen. The salarian felt naked, but the turian merely shrugged.

"It's just something the drone picked up. Something blue. Do you see it?" Vorus explained.

"Something alive?" Whitefield asked, spotting the tiny blue object at the top of the structure.

"We aren't sure", Kylon replied in earnest. "If the drone had better scanning systems or even an option for manual maneuvering, we wouldn't be dabbling in speculation".

"I like speculation", Whitefield declared proudly. Vorus ignored his pilot's pair of black-almond eyes, gazing at him as if to say: _Tossing the little human into the water right now would be both beneficial to our cause and irrefutably amusing._

The turian smirked, and spoke aloud.

"We'll head over to the island and take a quick look. For all we know, it's just an abandoned structure and the blue object is just some trick of the light".

"Bet it's an asari", Whitefield murmured.

Kylon broke into a staccato of inane laughter, but his captain remained stoic.

"That is not very likely", Vorus explained to his human officer. "The asari are among the most sociable species in the galaxy. If they had taken up residence on this world, we would surely know about it".

"Maybe these asari are different", the human countered. "Maybe they don't want to be social, like recluses or something. Or maybe there was an accident. They could need our help".

"Give it a rest, human", Kylon said, fighting the urge to let laughter spill fourth once again. "The asari are collectivists by nature, and they would never willingly cut themselves off from the rest of the galaxy".

"I didn't say it was willingly! I just said that it's possible-"

"Every _possibility_ can be explored when we get there", Vorus interrupted. "Kylon, bring the Tiber to the banks of the island. One shore party can explore the structure. We will be efficiently thorough and extremely careful", he added, glancing at the human. "If we find anything interesting or valuable, we can deal with it appropriately when the time comes".

Whitefield's features brightened at the anticipation of adventure, but Kylon ignored the silly human mannerisms.

"Understood, Captain", the salarian replied sharply, and headed toward the cockpit.

"Hey. Can I be in the shore party, Captain?" the human piped up, tall and proud in a feeble effort to impress his turian captain. "I'm really sharp with details".

"Details, yes", Vorus echoed. "Sometimes I think you are so concerned with trivia that you ignore the bigger picture. Like so many of your kind".

Vorus peered skeptically at the human's glistening young eyes, and Whitefield stared straight back into the twin golden orbs of his turian superior.

"Are you comfortable in an environmental suit?"

The human grinned.


	4. Chapter 4

"Hurry it up, Whitefield", Kylon waved a lanky appendage at his sluggish crewmate. "I thought your species knew the true value of time".

Whitefield was grateful for the salarian's paranoia. Despite the fragrant, salty air of the planet, Kylon insisted on wearing his most expensive environmental suit. The salarian's hideously amphibious features were securely encased within the spacious confines of his bulbous opaque helmet. Unfortunately for Whitefield, the airtight suit did nothing to dampen the sound of the pilot's incessant slurs.

"Time is not against us, Kylon" Vorus observed, spiky head shaking freely in the afternoon sun. Whitefield found the planet's azure seas and golden beaches to be incredibly beautiful. Once word got out, this world was sure to become a hit with vacationing tourists. "And why are you wearing that ridiculous thing? The sunlight is only a mild nuisance. Any other turian would laugh you off-planet".

"I am aware of the atmospheric conditions, Captain", Kylon reminded the turian. "I was the one who reported them to you, as you'll no doubt recall. I am merely exercising reasonable precautions. I am not eager to set all my eggs in one side of the nest, so to speak".

"I wasn't aware that we were in a nest", the captain observed, coarse granules of sand crunching beneath the treads of his well-worn military boots.

"Oh, but there is always a nest, Vorus", Kylon answered. "Our only hope is that we do not incur the wrath of the mother".

Charles Whitefield suppressed a chuckle. He wondered if all salarians were content to lead such a dull and fearful existence.

Kylon halted.

"What is it?" Vorus asked, descending the beach slope with Whitefield at his side.

"Not sure".

"Did you see something?" Whitefield asked.

"Yes", the salarian answered curtly.

"What was it?" the captain pressed his pilot for information.

"I don't know", whimpered the once arrogant salarian. "Something out there. In the water".

Whitefield was not fearless, but he was curious. He trotted down the beach. The skies were empty and blue, save for wispy streaks of cloud formations. The water stretched out to the horizon without interruption. An endless sea.

The human glanced back at his silent crewmates, to be sure they were still with him.

"Get back here, Whitefield", Vorus commanded. "We're not equipped for marine exploration".

"So what?" Whitefield shrugged. "These suits can hold up to plenty of crap. I don't think a little salty water's going to make any difference. You said the water was fine, right? Kylon?"

The black bubble helmet nodded without words.

"There, see? If the water's fine, I say step on in" Whitefield took nine hesitant steps down the beach. When damp sand caked around his boots, the captain reprimanded him.

"There are regulations against this sort of behavior, Whitefield", Vorus warned the human, baritone cutting swiftly through the salty breeze. "I don't care how inquisitive you are. I am your captain. You will follow my lead."

Whitefield sighed.

"I thought you said the oceans were empty, Kylon", the turian whispered his accusations to keep the human from hearing.

"I said they probably wouldn't support much organic life, Vorus" the salarian snapped rudely at his captain. "That doesn't mean they're empty, and it certainly doesn't make them safe enough for a mid-day splash fest!"

The salarian craned his neck toward the water. It was a reflective veil that gave no indicator of what monstrosities lurked below.

"Just get back here, alright?" Kylon hollered at his crewmate, high voice now wavering with fear. "We can always study the water later".

"Fine", the human yielded to the pleas of his companions.

Before he could turn away from the endless sea, Whitefield heard a splash. It sounded close.

"Whitefield!" the captain barked, to no avail.

Silence.

The human stood alone at the water's edge, peering into the aquatic abyss. He held his breath, as if expecting the ocean to pull him underwater, yet the tide merely foamed harmlessly around his ankles.

A round object bobbed to the surface. It was a solid blue, and smoother than the surrounding choppy waters. Hot human blood ran cold when Whitefield saw the tapering tentacles gathered at the far side of the domed carapace.

It lifted from the waters, revealing a pair of white orbs.

Whitefield instantly recognized the creature as an asari. It was looking right at him.


	5. Chapter 5

With each rhythmic passing of the tide, the aquatic alien revealed several new inches of itself to the trio of stupefied spectators. Presently, Charles Whitefield could barely make out the sleek whites of the asari's eyes. Several seconds later, a thin nose and delicate mouth became visible.

Whitefield swallowed. It was moving toward him.

Another wave ebbed, revealing an elegant neckline. Water rose to kiss the small chin, then sank again, exposing the rounded pair of shoulders and an even rounder pair of-

"Whitefield!"

The human flinched, but ignored his captain's call. Vorus sighed and marched down the banks of the shore, nervous pilot following closely behind. Patience was one of Vorus's greatest virtues, but Whitefield's flagrant disregard for authority was more than a little irritating to the turian captain.

For this reason, he did not hesitate to grab the human by his fleshy face and rebuke him publicly.

"What is your role upon my vessel, human?"

"Let me go!" Whitefield struggled against the clawed appendage that forced his cheeks to smash painfully against his jaws. The turian was much stronger, and clutched Whitefield's face like an expired piece of meat.

"I am your captain, Whitefield", the turian rasped. "I don't care what level of chaos the rest of your species is comfortable with. You will submit to me, or I will leave you on this barren planet, where you will shrivel into a blackened husk like tarigano jerky under the Palavenian sun!"

"Stop it!" cried a voice too melodic to be salarian. Vorus released his grip, and the three gazed at the speaker.

"I must admit", the asari sighed gently, glancing at Whitefield as he rubbed the soreness from his cheeks, "I have never met a human before. Even so, I cannot think of many species that offer lasting constancy under the reign of threats".

Vorus sniffed the salty air. He _knew_ this place was weird.

"He is not a lasting alley", the captain explained. "And what business is it of yours, asari? What are you doing hiding in the middle of an ocean?"

"Hiding?" she quirked a brow at him. Whitefield thought the asari had beautiful brows. Strange black lines like face paint or tattoos, maybe. He decided they lent her an exotic appearance. "What makes you think I am hiding?"

"You were under the water for quite some time", Vorus folded his arms in his classic _I'm not buying it_ posture. It was one of Kylon's favorite gestures, though all eyes were fixated on the asari.

"I was swimming" the asari shrugged. "It is a lovely day, is it not?"

Vorus glanced at the navigator, whose hungry eyes kept dancing around the asari's bare blue body. Humans were such animals. He was right to grip Whitefield by the scruff of his face.

"I see", Vorus unfurled his arms and wore his most diplomatic expression, hoping to appease the asari's sense of dignity. Despite her lack of clothing, she carried herself like some regal politician. "Do you live in that structure, at the island center?"

"I do", she nodded politely. "With my sisters".

"Sisters?" Whitefield perked up, finally summoning the courage to look the asari in the eye. He blinked ferociously, and Vorus suppressed an urge to lash him across his stupid face.

"Yes", the asari replied. "My name is Galina. I am the youngest of twelve. We are sisters in spirit, rather than by blood".

"Do you have some sort of leader?" Kylon broke in unexpectedly. "Someone we could speak to on matters of financial trade?"

"My pilot does not speak for the entire crew", Vorus grumbled, bulky physique pushing past the slinky salarian without apology. "I am Vorus, Captain of the Tiber".

The turian gestured dramatically toward the black vessel parked awkwardly upon the pale coastal sands. It looked like a dead mollusk. Whitefield silently observed that this captain was more proud of his ship than his crew.

"Yes, I assumed that was your ship", Galina smirked, eyes wandering the coastline in a similarly theatrical fashion. "I have not seen any others upon our shores in quite some time".

"I expect not", Vorus grunted. "But I would like to visit this _home_ of yours. With your permission". Vorus punctuated his last words with a curt nod. This was the first time Whitefield saw any display of humility from his captain. Something about it made him uneasy.

"I will take you there now, if you wish", the asari nodded in kind. "Mind your step. The sand can get everywhere, if you're not careful".

Vorus gestured to his crew, and followed Galina up the coastline. Her path was trailed with delicate droplets of water, dark dots on pale sand. Whitefield stared at the asari's shapely backside, while Kylon glanced nervously across the horizon. The Tiber was equipped with "adequate" security measures, according to his captain. However, this world was not quite as vacant as they had been first led to believe. Damn human navigator.

Kylon found himself inexplicably assaulted with cravings for the human's chewy pastry rings.


	6. Chapter 6

The fruit of the R'beia tree carried an almost sacred status within the galactic dining community. There were two main reasons for this. The first and most obvious was the taste. Wealthy and adventurous diners typically required extensive lecturing in order to convince them of the pure and natural composition of the fruit. Few specimens of fruit were capable of producing, in their raw and virginal state, such remarkable depth of flavor. The second reason for their fame was the incredible complexity of the technique required to properly harvest the edible treasure. Once stripped of its spiny outer husk, the gelatinous interior flesh could easily be destroyed by a single careless laceration of its translucent inner membrane. The resulting mess was not only a waste of costly resources, but a shameful dishonor for any asari chef. Not surprisingly, dissecting the R'Beia fruit was a task even the most experienced masters took very seriously. They were meticulous and slow, lavishing the organic jewel with great care and attention.

Mafuari set the thorny orb upon her cutting board. Blue fingers curled and splayed with expert precision, avoiding contact with the spines as she carved through with a hand-forged blade.

As a child, Mafuari developed motor skills earlier than most asari children. Jealous elders sometimes reprimanded Mafuari for her speed, claiming that she was certain to make mistakes. Not her mother, though. Mafuari's mother frequently congratulated her daughter's accomplishments, telling her that she had the speed of a salarian. Mafuari had never known her mother to take a partner, but she suspected her cognitive celerity was derived from salarian genetic code.

Sixteen slices later, and eight perfectly portioned wedges of deep red R'Beia fruit sat quietly upon her board, free of the thorny brown husk. The process had taken Mafuari less than twenty seconds. She was not prideful, but glad for her solitude. No one would scold her for being too arrogant or swift with the blade.

Using the flat side for transport, she set each slice in a circular pattern upon a bed of bitter greens. Spiced nuts finely chopped served as the final garnish, flecks of gold across a platter of emerald waves and ruby crescents.

Mafuari frowned. The dish was elegant, but far simpler than she normally preferred. She reminded herself that the R'Beia was the center of attention, and therefore needed no embellishment.

"By the goddess, we have visitors!"

Head tilted to the platter, Mafuari lifted only her eyes to meet those of her sister. Her efforts to intimidate others were rarely successful; Mafuari knew she was perceived as "too cute" to be taken seriously, angry or not.

"How long have you known this?" her sister continued her mindless chirping.

"I have not known anything beyond the blade, dear Sister", Mafuari indicated to her knife, well-worn handle bolted unapologetically to the full tang. Tiny hieroglyphics inscribed along its length quietly proclaimed "From the center, everything".

"But you are preparing R'Beia, are you not?" the intruder whined without relent. "You would not use our most treasured produce unless-"

"I will do as Baharia asks", Mafuari replied in monotone. "That is my purpose".

"Baharia?" Trejara echoed like a domesticated Vipi bird. Her quick, abrupt movements also served to reinforce her avian image, at least in Mafuari's mind. Trejara often declared her fondness for nature, though Mafuari suspected this was only because her "sister" understood the emotions of simple creatures better than those of advanced organisms.

Or even a fellow asari.

"Yes. That is correct", she nodded an exaggerated affirmative response.

_Such a clever bird._ Mafuari suddenly recalled the aroma of fatty poultry skin crackling in hot oil.

"Baharia asked you prepare R'Beia because we have visitors coming", Trejara pieced her fragmented bits of logic together like a child with building blocks. Mafuari sneered, rocking the blade idly across the board. "Right? That has to be it. I can think of no major holidays or-"

"Right", Mafuari replied thoughtfully. "I suppose this means bigger portions will be needed".

Trejara blinked stupidly.

"I will require two more sprigs of kitro, one ripe guari, three leaves from-"

"Wait, wait!" Trejara pawed through a nearby drawer, disheveling the rows of neatly arranged kitchen tools in panicked pursuit of a writing utensil.

Mafuari allowed herself a smirk as she washed her knife.


	7. Chapter 7

Marbled streaks of amber wood composed the decadent foyer of the vaunted "fortress". Extensive romantic paintings lined the walls, separated by scenic murals and intricate mosaics depicting sunsets over lush hillsides and rustic seaside villages. A central staircase bisected the foyer, railings carved into full scale female figures, elegant and alert like a pair of royal asari bodyguards. Sunlight radiated from a ring of strange glass spheres along the ceiling, offering stark backlighting for the wiry veins of feathery fronds, generous highlighting for ruby trotez berries, and gentle illumination for violet-turquoise Vashenese flowers.

Vorus immediately hated the place. His crewmates gawked without restraint.

"Do you think she's coming back?" the salarian whispered.

"You mean Galina?" Whitefield asked.

"No, Whitefield", Kylon spat back. "I meant the other asari. The others that live there. All eleven, right? I'm sure she'll be back here with all eleven asari, just like she said. Just twelve naked asari, and then everything will be just fine! That would make it perfect for you, wouldn't it? Right? Whitefield?"

"_What?_ What are you even-"

"Quiet", Vorus commanded without hesitation.

No arguments.

Whitefield glanced at his captain, whose olive colored skin appeared to reflect gold in the filtered sunlight. He guessed that an array of mirrors guided the sunlight down through the roofing, and the spherical protrusions in the ceiling widened the angle of its exit. He'd seen these designs in engineering classes several years ago, but it seemed wherever humans dared to tread, some other species was already there. He speculated the asari were as dedicated to functionality as they were to design aesthetic.

"This way, gentlemen", Galina called from an adjacent hallway.

There was a dull thud and quick apology, and Vorus correctly assumed that Whitefield had stumbled into Kylon in his hurry to heed the call of the asari. If the human caused any further trouble today, Vorus was prepared to make threats of force. To threaten reduction of pay was a breach of oral contract, therefore unthinkable to the middle-aged turian.

Pain was a better teacher, anyway.

The hallways were lined with a strange polished stone, each columbarium bearing a unique treasure. Kylon took mental note of each one as they passed. They were mostly ornate vases of varying shape and color, with an occasional dusty sculpture or cracked bust. His appraisal had been rushed, but Kylon suspected several of the pieces were old enough to have some unique market value.

The trio halted.

Central to the "fortress" was an internal courtyard, brimming with exotic flora and rows of produce which Whitefield couldn't identify. Massive roots birthed languid leaves of yellow, shading tubular vegetation below. Woven baskets of bulbous orange orbs sat below their parent tree, and the air smelled of tea leaves and fresh citrus.

"How the hell do they grow all this stuff?" Kylon whispered sharply to his captain.

"Imported soil?" Vorus guessed aloud.

"But it's all contained here", the salarian countered. "You import soil to sustain yourself on an undeveloped world, why? To admire the scenery?"

"Captain!" a new asari approached from the right, tiptoeing her way around the fruit-laden baskets. "It is such an honor to meet you!"

"Why?" Vorus asked, shaking her hand gingerly. Her grasp was eager, and surprisingly strong.

The new asari cocked her head at him. She appeared confused. Galina cleared her throat, and extended her own hand toward the newcomer.

"Captain, this is Trejara. My sister".

"Her _favorite_ sister", Trejara nodded emphatically. She was taller than Kylon, and far sturdier looking. The knees of her trousers were smudged with soil.

"Where is Baharia?" Galina asked without missing a beat. Whitefield figured Trejara was the persona non gratis among these asari. He could sympathize.

"On the other side of the garden", Trejara replied.

Galina pursed her lips. Diplomatic plans could be such fragile things.

"Very well", she said. "This way, Captain".


	8. Chapter 8

"Whitefield".

"What?"

"You smell that?"

The human sniffed at the air with his tiny bump of a nose. Kylon didn't know how well Whitefield's species could detect odors, but given the apparent strength of the human's other powers of perception, he was not expecting to be impressed.

"I smell fruit or something. Like orange, or mango? Is that what you mean?"

"No, that's not it. It's sweet".

"Fruit is sweet".

"It's not fruit", the salarian insisted. "Didn't I just say that?"

Vorus shot him a look. Kylon quieted.

_Useless._

"Hello!" a chorus of greetings sprang up. Kylon craned his neck, avoiding the spiky protrusions of his captain's head. He was not eager to have his large eyes gouged this early in the morning.

Whitefield stood in awe at the garden's edge. Two asari were strewn across a burgundy sofa, while a third set an immaculate platter of exotic fruit on an adjacent table. The two lounging asari stole glances at the platter, while a second pair giggled furtively by a decorative support column. Each wore a tunic of similar design, though small variations suggested modest individuality. One stood in a garb pale yellow with concentric black rings extending from the hips, while whispering to another in a sleek indigo dinner dress.

Each asari was unique, but all were striking to look upon. Whitefield felt lightheaded.

"These are my sisters, Captain", Galina extended a graceful hand, briefly introducing each one. Vorus followed her line of sight politely, though he ignored the introductions and chose instead to scrutinize his surroundings for subtle clues to fuel his suspicion. He had no intention of making an extended visit here, anyway.

"Is that R'Beia?" Kylon asked incredulously. Galina replied with genuine enthusiasm, instantly forgiving the salarian's interruption.

"It is R'Beia, indeed", she smiled. "Baharia insists upon only the finest for our guests".

"And why not?" piped up a voice from behind. Whitefield didn't have to look to identify Trejara. "Guests are few and far between". Her strides were quick and proud as she made her way beside Galina, whose paint-like brow furrowed once more.

"Numbers are not the reason we exist" came a sharp voice from the shadows. Whitefield squinted through the darkened hallway behind the sofa. The silhouette was nearly invisible, and the voice was strange, like ocean water crashing upon jagged cliffs. He tensed his body, as though something unseen was about to strike him.

"No, of course not, Baharia", Trejara bowed her head apologetically. "I meant only to express my agreement with your policies. Our traditions, I mean". She stifled a self-defeating sigh. Galina plainly looked embarrassed for her sister, and spoke up in her stead.

"These are our guests, ma'am. This is Captain Vorus. He is leading a private charter for an agricultural business, I believe".

"Yes", Vorus nodded at no one in particular. "I am the captain of the Tiber. It is an honor for us to be here". He did not bother to introduce the rest of his crew. Whitefield couldn't tell if this was part of some obscure turian negotiation tactic, or if Vorus was just being dodgy for the hell of it.

"The Tiber", echoed the watery voice from the darkness. It appeared to take a step closer to the visitors. Whitefield could barely make out the feminine curves of the body, as they appeared draped in heavy cloth.

"Yes, it is an unusual vessel", Vorus explained. "Human engineering imitating traditional turian design".

"Unusual" came the next echo.

"It would be unusual to see an interspecies collaboration", Vorus continued. "Particularly when a human appears so eager to imitate a turian".

"Why?" she asked. Indirect sunlight was finally sufficient to illuminate details of the figure. The fine lines of white robes lent the appearance of an exotic priestess, but Whitefield knew next to nothing about asari religious practices.

"Some species are quicker to trust than others", Vorus answered flatly. "The Tiber is an effort to replicate, one might say. The humans are not known for their flattery".

"Maybe it isn't flattery", Whitefield interjected. "It is possible they really did find some turian designs worth imitating. Or maybe they really just love turians with all their hearts".

"Of course", Vorus lowered his voice. "I can see it was not a mistake to hire a human navigator. Such nimble minds. So _imaginative_".

"We all have our gifts", Galina offered sweetly.

"Hear that, Whitefield?" Kylon hissed into the human's ear. "You're gifted!"

"Captain Vorus", Baharia announced as though reading a roster. "You have come with friends".

Whitefield didn't know if turians had molars behind their conical teeth, but if they did, the captain would likely be grinding them right now. To his credit, Vorus's jaw seemed to relax as he spoke.

"This is Kylon", Vorus gestured to the lean figure standing behind him, "the greatest pilot I've had the fortune of working with".

The salarian waved a shaky hand at the shrouded figure. Unsure whether to bow or speak, he privately cursed his anxious thoughts for overriding his better judgment. This whole situation was absurd, but he would not allow himself to be caught off guard in the future.

"This is Whitefield, ship navigator", Vorus made his second introduction without enthusiasm. The human's face twisted into a crooked grin.

"Hi there", he waved as though greeting an old friend in a dingy bar.

Charles Whitefield knew he wasn't making things easy on the captain, and he didn't care.


	9. Chapter 9

A potted fern sat on the balcony of the terrace. Green leaves slouched, and the bulk of its stem was reddish brown. Healthy veins appeared to pop yellow from the center. There was nothing particularly menacing about its size or shape, but the vibrant color agitated Vorus. He kept his distance.

"Do you like the sho'pa?" Baharia spoke at last.

"No, not especially", Vorus replied. He glanced about the balcony once more, to assure himself that he was alone with the asari. "I've been bitten by too many beautiful houseplants".

"I see", Baharia nodded once, lips failing to indicate any good humor. A horizontal crescent of white spots bisected her face, but she appeared otherwise unremarkable to Vorus. "Your companions seemed to enjoy the fruit".

"They did, thank you. I am sure they were not expecting to find elaborate cuisine and luxurious beds for the night. Your generosity is extraordinary".

"It is our pleasure, Captain", the asari studied his face for a moment, then returned her gaze to the ocean. Tiny blue fingers stretched from her wide white sleeves. She looked overdressed to the turian, though he felt far more awkward in his light armored suit. "I am only sorry the R'Beia is not compatible with your unique constitution".

"Don't worry about it", Vorus swatted away the apology like an insect in the air. "The Tiber's kitchen is always overstocked. My pilot is a shameless glutton".

Another furtive glance, and still Vorus saw no smile on her face. Comedy was not the forte of the turian, but he suspected the asari was burdened by something else.

"I suppose you will want to sleep on your ship, as well" she spoke in monotone, eyes locked on the distant horizon.

"As a matter of practicality, yes", he shifted his weight against the balcony railing. Small figures in expressive poses were carved along its length. Every object in this place was like a work of art. Vorus did his best to ignore the opulence, and spent a moment staring out into the ocean to collect his thoughts. The expanse made him dizzy.

"When most visitors arrive", Baharia recalled abruptly, "I am besieged by questions. You have been exceedingly polite, Captain".

"Have I?" Vorus murmured, sensing an opportunity.

"Genuine or not, I do appreciate the courtesy", she continued.

Baharia pressed away from the balcony, and Vorus did the same. His courtesy was incidental; if the asari would not reveal the nature of her isolated existence, he would not resort to aggravating demands. He expected her answers would be cryptic, anyway.

He would discover the truth on his own.

"This is a very wet world" she locked eyes with the turian. "The lands are insular and mostly infertile, so the agricultural potential of the planet is fairly limited without major terraforming. Probes and orbital scans would reveal all of this to you. You aren't here to till the soil, Captain".

"No", Vorus answered without pause. "My navigator is the sole reason behind this visit".

"The human?"

"Yes, my little human navigator. Troublesome, but he has knack for sniffing things out. It is difficult to explain".

Baharia remained motionless.

"We were scanning an asteroid belt several weeks ago", Vorus's eyes drifted beyond the asari as he spoke. "Our schedule didn't permit thorough searching, so I told my pilot to move on after several hours. Then our navigator bursts into the cockpit, twittering frantically like a little bird. After I calmed him down, he revealed that he'd dispatched a separate probe. Without my knowledge".

The asari's posture seemed to relax, as though she knew his words before they were spoken.

"Scans from the probe revealed cobalt deposits on the opposite side of the belt. We couldn't believe it. Alliance Geological Service offered a sizable sum for our discovery".

"You reported this to the Systems Alliance?"

"This was Whitefield's discovery, a _human_ discovery. I thought it only fair", Vorus returned his attention to the asari. Some believed the asari to be telepathic, and right now, the turian could nearly sympathize with such superstition. It felt like his thoughts were being read and weighted against the words he now offered to her.

He would have to be careful.

"There is discord among your crew, Captain".

"Discord?" the turian grinned involuntarily. "Yes, my tolerance for discord has grown since taking the human aboard. Maybe I enjoy the challenge. In any case, the bounty belonged to the human. But I was surprised when he announced his plans for the money".

Vorus brushed nonexistent dirt from the sleeves of his armor.

"He was not as selfish as you thought", Baharia observed plainly. Vorus quieted, wholly unprepared for her insight.

"That's right", he said. "He wanted to use the money to _upgrade_ the ship. The mess hall, to be precise. An arrangement that benefits all of us".

"He is treated with such scorn".

Vorus sighed. The asari was not merely reading his cards; she was reading _him_.

"As I said", he resumed, "the human is the reason we are here now. He claimed he could feel something was important about this place. Nothing about this planet demands our landing upon its surface. Only the instincts of one human".

"Yet you agreed to the landing".

"Yes. An unorthodox decision on my part. Still, I am sure he will enjoy this brief vacation in your outstanding home. This is his second discovery. Whitefield obviously has an instinct for finding _important things_".

"Not all important things make themselves known" the asari broke eye contact at last, eyes returning to the endless ocean. Vorus knew she was right, and it was clear that little could be hidden from Baharia. He also found her eccentric, impossible to trust.

"I do not know what things rest within this planet. I cannot stop you from searching, but I would ask one thing from you", the asari's voice grew soft, barely audible on the wind.

"What is it?"

"Be respectful of the waters".


	10. Chapter 10

Something tapped irritatingly on Kylon's arm. He swatted reflexively at the sensation, to no avail.

"Just take it, will you?"

"No", the salarian whispered angrily at Whitefield, then asked "What is it?"

"Donuts. Your favorite".

Kylon snatched the carton, frowning immediately upon making his cursory inspection. The box was smashed horribly out of proportion, the contents mashed into a golden doughy paste of nearly unrecognizable origin.

"How generous of you", he remarked.

"Yeah, sorry about that", came the human's belated apology. His words were bland and thoughtless, as though his tiny mind was strained with other cognitive tasks. "Stuffed them in my back pocket when we were still aboard the Tiber. Guess I forgot".

"Oh, that's charming. Should lend a very distinctive aftertaste".

"So what?" Whitefield waved a pale hand at the salarian before turning down the hallway. "You'll still eat them".

Kylon stood alone with the deformed donut carton. He was loath to judge an entire species on a single specimen, but Whitefield had such profound audacity. This was, in his opinion, the absolute worst characteristic of the Tiber's navigator. Simple incompetence could be combated with proper training and education. He'd hoped the stringent authority of a turian captain would put an eventual damper on Whitefield's reckless behavior, but Vorus seemed to act only as encouragement. To allow such insolence was uncharacteristic of the captain. Perhaps he dismissed all of it, like a wealthy widow dismisses the snarling of her pet varren in the night.

Maybe Vorus hoped Whitefield would sniff out another mineral deposit. Whitefield was no pet, even if he did deserve to be muzzled. Vorus was not prone to patronization of those under his watch. More importantly, turians didn't place heavy bets in games of chance. The captain's behavior had been otherwise predictable. His psychological state appeared stable, although Kylon had to admit he was not really qualified to evaluate such a thing.

This matter exceeded his grasp for the time being. Kylon planned to observe Whitefield and Vorus more closely in the future. For now, he was free to move about this mysterious compound without escort or-

There was a sharp crinkling. The damaged carton was practically disintegrating in his hands. Fearing the loss of the remaining donut mash, Kylon hurried down the dim hallway with the package cradled in his limber arms. He needed a clean surface to save the pastries, though the hallway was immaculate and devoid of furniture. Damned asari aesthetics.

Another crackling. _No!_

Powerful eyes found the nearest door, and the salarian pressed his back against it. It swung open quickly against his weight. Kylon fought to regain his balance. The room was brightly lit, and a fresh countertop sat in the center. Five careful footsteps, and Kylon gently deposited the shredded carton upon its surface. The frail frame of the box was distorted terribly, and could no longer support the weight of its treasured interior. Several bits of rogue pastry fell to the countertop, but the salarian heaved a sigh of relief.

The donuts were safe.

"That's odd", a low voice startled him. "I haven't seen these growing in our gardens".

An asari in a brown uniform appeared at the opposite side of the countertop. Kylon straightened himself, reciting elaborate explanatory paragraphs twice in his head before speaking them aloud.

"I apologize for the intrusion. This box of pastries – which my companion refers to as 'donuts' – was on the brink of destru-"

"Forget it. It was a joke", the asari frowned, gaze fastened to the workspace before her. Two small piles of vegetables sat nearby, one consisting of neatly stacked white cubes, the other a parallel arrangement of narrow green stalks. The former Kylon recognized quickly. The latter was alien to him.

"Almost every cippa root I've seen is imported", the salarian offered modestly.

"Lots of produce is imported", the asari answered, chopping a third vegetable without missing a beat.

"Yes, that's true", Kylon nodded, pretending his thoughts were as slow as Whitefield's. "I get the feeling most of your food is not imported, however".

"Fresh produce. We grow more than enough to sustain ourselves here".

"Ah", Kylon nodded again. "But cippa root?"

"Hydroponic gardens", she answered, eyes never lifting from her work.

"Really? No need to worry about insects, then".

"Insects are never a problem here".

_There it is_. Fertile gardens were known to attract insects on planets with even the most bizarre and rudimentary ecosystems. If insects weren't a problem here, this planet was very much devoid of life.

Except for these asari.

"How strange", Kylon admitted aloud.

"To be fair, salarian", the asari said with a sigh, "I find many things strange about your own people, yet I accept the discrepancies. With all the wonders the asari have contributed to the galaxy, is it so outrageous for a small group to live in solitude?"

"Yes", Kylon replied. "It is uncharacteristic of your species".

The asari frowned, and her blade went still. Her eyes lifted to Kylon's, though Kylon failed to find anything truly menacing about this. In fact, he found himself grinning.

"Mafuari, right? You were the one who divinely presented the legendary R'Beia fruit".

"Yes, and my apologies to your captain".

"Why?"

"The R'Beia is incompatible with turian physiology. The few that survive consumption are never the same".

"He knew that. That's why he went back to the ship", Kylon answered, trying his best to sound casual. The turian allergy to R'Beia was well established, but it was also a convenient excuse for Vorus to leave the villa. Kylon knew his captain wasn't going back to the ship. He was probably snooping around the exterior of the building, looking for trivial details to justify his paranoia.

Poor old turian bastard.

"Are you preparing dinner?" Kylon asked, using the conversation to distract Mafuari from his extensive inner monologue.

"I am", she answered, setting a new vegetable upon the counter. "You may assist me, if you think your skills are adequate".

"I learn quickly, asari".

The salarian and asari exchanged friendly insults as they worked. By the evening's end, a twelve-course meal filled the villa's dining hall and a year's worth of culinary training filled Kylon's supple mind.


	11. Chapter 11

Free of the Tiber's wall-mounted bunk, Captain Vorus shook away the last remnants of his hard, dreamless slumber. Aside from a minor throbbing in his head, he felt perfectly serviceable. Last night's covert inspection of the asari villa turned up nothing of interest.

The asari on this strange planet were living a mundane existence. Eccentric perhaps, but mundane. Following Whitefield's instincts had been an affordable mistake, but he had no intention of repeating it. The crew had the full night to frolic at the villa. It was morning. Time to cast aside the suspicions of yesterday and move on.

Now clad in a simple uniform of white and blue, Vorus was ready to get back to business.

"Kylon", he called for his pilot, pressing his palm against the subdermal earpiece.

No answer.

The turian sighed, having little patience for equipment malfunction. Kylon always blamed malfunctions on the "economic restrictions", "strained budgets", and "limited financial resources". Those seemed to be his three favorites, at least.

"Kylon. Acknowledge".

Once they got back to a decent merchant, Vorus would replace all necessary radio units. Communication was too important to let the salarian purchase low-grade technology again.

Vorus was about to attempt a third raise, but thought better of it. Morning sun struck the turian as he trotted down the Tiber's exit ramp. At first, it seemed hotter than yesterday, but Vorus reminded himself that he slept in the relative cold of his ship. He half expected to find the villa missing, but it stood like an unflinching mountain at the center of the island.

As he began his journey across the dunes, the villa appeared to tremble violently as something caught the turian from behind and robbed him of his balance. Pressure on his throat and back, and something cold against his right cheek flap.

"Name and purpose of visit", hot breath shot onto his neck.

The turian quelled his instinct to fight, but his words came out in a snarl.

"Release me, asari".

Vorus had only guessed that his captor was an asari, but the brief silence told him he was probably right.

"I am unarmed", he admitted. "Release me and we will speak as civil beings".

The pressure on his neck subsided, and Vorus plunged into the sand. Coarse granules scraped painfully against his palms, but no suffering was apparent in the turian's face. He merely rose to his feet, dusted off his uniform, and turned to face his assailant.

It _was_ an asari. She was clad in black, a streamlined bodysuit devoid of dense protective ceramic. Military attire for most asari, even commandos, tended to look rugged and somewhat individualized. This suit appeared to have a sleek, handcrafted appearance that made Vorus uneasy.

In her hands, a small pistol. This too appeared unfamiliar to Vorus. The barrel was disproportionately slender, and it flattened into a disc parallel to the sight. The alien weapon was pointed right at him.

"Now", Vorus straightened as he spoke "What can I do for you?"

The asari did not speak. Vorus knew the slightest flinch could send a micro-mass accelerator round into his skull. He clenched his fists involuntarily.

"You should not be here", she said at last. Vorus steadied his breath before responding.

"This world has not been charted, to my knowledge. It has no officially established colonies, and no affiliations to indicate-"

"You need to leave", she cut him off.

Vorus considered this proposal. The asari living in the villa welcomed his crew with open arms. Asari were not known for fickle behavior, which could only mean-

"Now", the word erupted like a discharged round.

"Fine" the turian submitted at last, then asked "May I retrieve my crew?"

A pause.

"Where is your crew?" she asked. There was strain in her tone, possibly anger.

"In the villa" Vorus indicated with a short shift of his eyes.

The asari did not speak, but he sensed there were several violent fantasies playing out in her mind. He suspected he was a victim in each one.

"Let me bring them out", he suggested boldly. _Asari commandos_. Whatever was about to happen here would certainly be messy. His crew would have no part in this.

"How many?"

"Two. Just give me ten minutes to get them both out", Vorus always hated bargaining with asari. They had a way of making you feel victorious, even when you weren't. If he survived this negotiation, he would avoid dealing with their kind ever again. "Whatever you want inside that villa is yours. My crew has stumbled here in ignorance, and we don't want to get involved".

"Involved", she repeated, tasting the bitter desperation in his words.

Aside from her jaw, the asari never moved a muscle. No visible muscles, anyway. Vorus once saw extranet footage of Yujo birds during a hunt. They would stand motionless for hours, until some fat beast got careless with its grazing. The birds would always go for the neck first, their beaks like spears-

"Ten minutes" she spoke at last, snapping her wrist with such speed that Vorus could not even see where she holstered the weapon. "Go".

The turian struggled through the shallow dunes before hitting harder soil. Here he could move briskly through the sparse foliage without appearing to be frenzied. Vigilant residents would hopefully perceive only a grouchy turian acting without specific fear of death. He was tempted to quicken pace, but thought it best to avoid making a scene; he was certain that at least one pair of eyes would be on him at all times, at least until he returned to the Tiber with his crew and left this wretched place.


	12. Chapter 12

"It doesn't surprise me. Someone with your abilities could cultivate a restaurant franchise, setting up shop in major cities".

"I could", Mafuari agreed, her voice softening. "I could have done many things".

"What stopped you?" Kylon asked immediately. He fumbled with a kitro sprig, its needlelike leaves jabbing his fingers as he attempted to strip them from their stem. There was no practicality to this method as far as the salarian could tell, but there always seemed to be a good reason for every instruction the asari gave.

"Indifference", she answered.

"Yours or someone else's?" he asked.

When there was no response, Kylon dared to glance up at her. She looked unsettled.

"It's time for you to go", she wistfully declared.

The salarian blinked, confused until he followed her gaze to the kitchen's doorway, where a tired turian stood in outdated clothes.

"Well, good morning to you, too", Kylon sang out to his captain before turning his attention back to the sprig. "I don't know if today's breakfast is going to agree with your stomach, Vorus, but I took the liberty of-"

"We're leaving, Kylon", the turian commanded. Kylon found his manner to be unusually rude. What kind of trivial thing had spooked the captain this time?

"Alright. As soon as we're done with-"

"Now".

The salarian frowned, and set the kitro sprig upon the countertop.

"It's been an honor working under your tutelage, Mafuari", he said, offering her a quick bow. "Perhaps I'll return some day".

"Get the Tiber ready", Vorus said.

Kylon stifled a sigh before leaving the kitchen. Mafuari and Vorus exchanged a single glance, and the turian departed.

The asari stood alone. She spent several minutes gazing upon the surfaces in her kitchen, taking stock of each utensil, each ingredient, and savored the memories that blossomed upon recounting each one. She shut her eyes. Aromas and colors swept through her mind, two centuries of existence all recounted.

One deep breath, and her eyes opened. She reached for her knife.

Charles Whitefield propped his head up with one arm, and watched the lavender curtains flowing noiselessly at the bedroom window. Whenever they lifted in the stronger breezes, they revealed the square, blocky design of a surprisingly plain opening. With so many ornate aesthetics concentrated in the villa's interior, Whitefield found the sight distracting.

"It's a lovely day, isn't it?"

Whitefield returned his attention to the asari resting beside him. Trejara pressed her face against a pillow. She was naked down to the small of her back, white blanket draped candidly across her hips.

"Lovely", he repeated. He tried to think of a clever response, but instead found Galina in his thoughts. Hadn't she said the same thing yesterday?

"You dressed quickly", she noted.

It was true. He wore the same generic attire the previous night. Whitefield scratched thoughtfully at his chin.

"You think I'm running out on you?"

"No", she crooned. "But I expect you'll be running back to your captain. He doesn't strike me as the dawdling type".

"The captain", he scoffed brazenly. "He's always like that. Guess I'd be sour too, if I was born a turian".

"Don't say that", she protested playfully with a swat at his arm. "Everyone serves their purpose, you know".

Whitefield was preparing his sarcastic rebuttal when the cloth "door" of the bedroom swooshed aside to reveal a turian intruder.

"Vorus, what the hell-"

"We are leaving. Get moving", he said.

"No, I'm not going".

The turian paused. His angular features were sometimes hard to read.

"I mean, what's the hurry?" Whitefield corrected his outburst with frantic sentences. "You said time wasn't against us. The crew needs to relax, it's good for morale. Maybe you don't know about that stuff, but ask Kylon, he'll tell you. No need to be pushy. We're safe here".

The turian's chiseled brow descended. He took one step toward the bed.

"What? What is it?" the human asked.

"I will not ask you again, Whitefield".

Trejara excused herself, and quickly left the room.

"If you cannot follow this command, you will pay dearly for it".

"More of your empty threats?" the human now sat upright, glaring at his captain with insolent eyes.

"The words of a turian are never _empty_, Whitefield", Vorus bowed, his face just inches from the human. When he spoke, stone jaws parted to reveal teeth of spikes. It appeared very much like a medieval torture device to Whitefield.

"There's something happening", the human exhaled, finally comprehending. "Something dangerous".

"Get up", Vorus snarled.

Whitefield stood, and followed the turian down the vacant hallway. Their faces appeared to flash rhythmically, passing below a skylight every few meters. Vorus glanced behind him, then broke into full run. _Old bastard is faster than he looks._

"Kind of surprised you'd come back for me" Whitefield huffed as they descended the main stairway. He was certain the asari would disapprove of this rude exit, maybe try to stop them only to get socked in the face by Vorus. Where the hell did everyone go?

"I am your captain", Vorus answered, clearing the foyer and never slowing once they were out in the blazing morning sun. "That is my role".


	13. Chapter 13

The Tiber's pressure sealed doors groaned and hissed horrendously while sliding apart. Harsh sand and sunlight proved no match for the almond eyes of the salarian. Within a fraction of the time it would take most species, Kylon identified the approaching silhouettes. The human's posture indicated obvious fatigue, though whether the fatigue was physical or cognitive in nature, he could not be sure. Either way, it was clear proof of the inferiority of Whitefield's species. The turian displayed predictable single-minded determination, militant strides and proud stance as he climbed the Tiber's boarding ramp. The gait did appear slightly exaggerated to Kylon, though. This could not have been for the benefit of his crew. Was he trying to impress an onlooker?

At this moment it occurred to Kylon that Vorus was not entirely shortsighted. Paranoid delusions were easy to ignore, perhaps too easy. It was possible he'd grown accustomed to ignoring and disproving his captain's suspicions. Even if Vorus was overcautious, there were some warnings worth heeding.

"Ready to depart on your order, captain", Kylon nodded as the pair boarded. With everyone in the decontamination chamber, he felt cooling relief wash through him. Decontamination would not actually begin until the exterior pressure doors closed, which would not happen until Vorus took a few more steps inside. He was staring out at the island sands, even after his navigator came aboard.

"Alright, listen" Whitefield began his tiresome whining. "I might be a minority because of my species and all that crap, but if-"

"You are a minority", Kylon shrugged with indifference. "Show us that your kind deserves better, and you'll earn your place among us".

"Not without a fair chance!" Whitefield returned fire. "A fair chance to speak, at least. Vorus, I know you're the captain, but that's not going to cut it. Not right now. I followed you here, but I need to know what the hell is going on. And I think Kylon is equally deserving of some answers".

The salarian shook his head, unimpressed by the superficial gesture of equality. Vorus remained stalwart in the outer corridor, still gazing out at the beach.

"Vorus?" Kylon said.

"He never liked being here", Whitefield prattled on. "I know it's a little weird that they're out here in the middle of nowhere, but that doesn't justify dragging us off, or making up some story to scare us. Am I missing something, Kylon? Did he tell you anything?"

"No".

"He didn't tell you anything. And you're fine with that".

"I respect my captain's judgment".

Whitefield stared at the salarian. Kylon envisioned the dendritic tangles and fatty cerebral tissue in the human's skull, all straining to carry out simple thought processes.

"You spent a great deal of time in the sleeping quarters, Whitefield. I'm not familiar with the sleep habits of your species, so you'll have to indulge me", his almond eyes narrowed. "Is this _normal_ behavior?"

"No", Whitefield said. "I mean, we generally sleep about eight hours, continuously".

"You were out of sight for more than eight hours".

The human's brow wrinkled.

"So what?" he replied. "I can do other things besides sleep, and I'm not your lackey. How do you know what I was doing, anyway? You weren't even on the same floor".

"How do I know?" Kylon shrugged. "A salarian _knows_, Whitefield. Everyone knows we know, so most are not foolish enough to attempt to deceive us".

Kylon allowed the human several seconds to assemble what would no doubt be a clumsy rebuttal. When none came, he continued.

"Now. Most extranet files would have us believe that the typical human male is an opportunist, and their sexual behavior is documented in enough nauseating detail that it has remained a favorite topic among comedians ever since humanity first bumped into the rest of the galaxy two centuries ago. One famous report on human sexual behavior was written – not very surprisingly – by an asari sociopolitical scientist by the name of-"

"Whoa, hang on there!" Whitefield sputtered impatiently. "First of all, you shouldn't believe everything you read on the extranet. Second, what exactly does this have to do with our… you know, present situation?"

"It means that I know you were not sleeping, Mister Whitefield".

The human's eyes fluttered in rapid succession.

"And", Kylon added politely "I am sure that whatever you were doing would have been extremely impressive, had anyone been fortunate enough to bear witness. However, I must know which asari was the recipient of your… _affections_".

Whitefield's eyes drifted to a dented wall panel.

"Trejara", he muttered.

"Trejara", Kylon repeated the name. "Predictable".

"What?" Whitefield asked.

"Whitefield, I need you to think very carefully. Did you notice anything unusual while you were with her?"

The human's eyes drifted again. His mouth contorted crooked smile, which abruptly faded.

"No", he said. "Nothing too weird. I mean, it's not easy to remember every-"

"Think on it and tell me later", the salarian said. "Mafuari's kitchen is fairly sophisticated. It is abundantly stocked. Food supply is self-sustaining, or better, if they manage to feed guests. The crops aren't native, of course. But the gardens are very carefully thought out, and the villa interior is almost absurdly elaborate."

"Isn't that the asari style?"

"Hard to say", Kylon admitted. "Artistic style is famously diverse among the asari. They take inspiration from others, but that only makes it more difficult to identify something as uniquely 'asari'. If such a thing exists".

"And they live forever. Sort of".

"Yes", Kylon said with a sigh. "Life expectancy is outrageous. That's what unsettles me about the asari. They can afford to take their time".

"Alright", the human said, arms crossing his chest. "So they had lots of time. It's not some rough shelter. They've got a nice little setup, gardens and villa and everything. Obviously they aren't stranded".

Kylon was silent.

"Right?" Whitefield said.

"Mafuari bears a reluctant and depressive disposition", the salarian slowed his words.

"You don't think she wanted to be there?" the human played along.

"That is my impression. The villa makes prolonged residency seem likely, but there's no docking bay in sight. Not even a landing pad. They planned to stay, but not to receive visitors. This is not normal behavior for an asari".

"No?"

"Think about it, Whitefield. Some species need novelty more than others, but this would be a very stagnant lifestyle for an asari. You might have been miserable on board the Tiber, so the villa felt like paradise for you. But they have been living in that villa for a very long time. And to what end? I can't see them actually choosing to live an existence where they are practically trapped on a desolate planet. They're adventurers, diplomats, doctors, teachers, exotic dancers, and what have you. They want to socialize, they want to spread. It's in their nature, their culture, their history".

There was a faint crackling from outside, like distant thunder.

At this moment, Vorus turned to his crew.

"They are not here because they want to be", the turian looked to his navigator, then to his pilot. There was an unnerving calm in his tone that made Kylon's skin crawl. "That makes them prisoners, doesn't it?"

Whitefield frowned. Kylon's almond eyes widened in disbelief.

"This world", Vorus said, "is an asari prison".


	14. Chapter 14

The human's face lost all warmth of color. The salarian remained motionless, but retained his faculties of thought and speech.

"How long have you known?" Kylon's voice dropped to a whisper.

"It first occurred to me yesterday. Along with countless other possibilities, which I eagerly dismissed" Vorus said, his voice dropping. "Your words are always enlightening, Kylon".

-

Kivulia made her way across the garden periphery without sound. She kept low and relied on the surrounding columns for concealment. Her robe was light and thin. She could move easily in it, but her feet kept sticking to the stone floor. The asari had just returned from her morning swim. She was drying her legs when the deep thrumming began.

Manipulation of mass effect fields produces low frequency noise that most asari recognize as easily as the voice of their own mother; biotic potential is almost universal among their species. The villa was a home, a place of peace. Such powers were only used when the situation demanded it. Someone might need her help.

However, there had been no call for aid. The villa was extraordinarily silent.

Many asari were drawn to the practice of medicine. The incomparable depth and scope of acquired knowledge made asari physicians highly desirable among patients of all species. Medical professions granted no shortage of opportunities to aid others. Kivulia wished to evade the stereotype of elitism that pervaded asari physicians, however. She opened a mobile practice, a hospital frigate capable of providing affordable and superb healthcare to anyone within the local cluster.

At the opposite side of the garden, there was a rhythmic wheezing. Kivulia kept to the shadows as she approached.

Kivulia's medical frigate had once received a distress call from a batarian yacht drifting just outside Alliance-controlled space. Her frigate was making best possible speed to a nearby human colony, and Kivulia suspected the batarians were fleeing from the scene of their crime. When the batarians received no response, they threatened to fire on her frigate, so she allowed the vessel to dock. Her staff brought a single batarian onboard, but the injuries sustained were fatal. Kivulia delicately and apologetically explained that nothing could be done, but this enraged the batarian captain and he refused to disembark. Reluctant to further delay aid to the colony, Kivulia gave the rare order to eject the batarian yacht. Several colonists were dead by the time she arrived, one of whom was the only daughter of the colonial governor. Terra Firma heavily publicized the incident, claiming the tragedy was "proof of the alien conspiracy to wipe out humanity". Kivulia was also blamed for the subsequent batarian attack on the same colony. Most of her staff resigned from their posts within a week, and Kivulia worked quietly as an editor for an alternative medical journal for the next three decades.

She never again spoke of the injustice of her loss.

-

"This could have been shared" Kylon lamented. "At least with me, Captain. You know I would have followed orders, as I always-"

"Not much could be done. I knew of my instincts, but instincts alone cannot drive action. I needed a reason. The commando gave me one".

"What?" Whitefield's face twisted in horror.

"There was an asari commando, or something like a commando. I was on my way back to you when the attack came. No warning. Just grabbed me and demanded that I leave. I agreed that I would, as soon as I regrouped with my crew. She gave me ten minutes-"

Another rumbling spread across the beach.

"I succeeded. We are still alive".

"Alive?" Whitefield's voice cracked.

"Did she say anything? Why she was here?" Kylon's questions burst forth.

Vorus returned his gaze to the beach. He was silent.

"She's killing them!" Whitefield lurched forward, knocking Vorus aside and scurrying down the boarding ramp.

-

The review committee consisted of hundreds of members. It was not until the twentieth asari had gone missing that an investigation was launched. Six more disappeared before covert operatives entered the apartment of Gia Kivulia. Bits of asari tissue were found preserved in elaborate glass sculptures, a perverse amalgam of the doctor's favorite hobbies.

Kivulia paused in the silence of the garden. The wheezing had stopped.

For such heinous crimes, many species would have enacted punishment by death. But Kivulia's fate did not rest in the hands of a conventional judicial system. She was not subject to fierce interrogations or the burden of attorney's fees.

She was in the hands of Matriarch Qua'la.

The wheezing began again, followed by loud, wet coughs. Kivulia found the source of the noise, and reached for the crumpled silhouette of her asari compatriot. The doctor's hands touched something warm and slick, and she instinctively focused on binding the wound, oblivious to the threat from behind.


	15. Chapter 15

Mafuari's blade was uncharacteristically slow in slicing a crimson root vegetable. She was cutting them against the bias, giving the pieces an angular, diamond form. Beside them was a pile of the same vegetable, cut into thin coins. Even greater mounds rested across the workspace, some cut into narrow strips, others stacked as uniform cubes.

A figure appeared in the kitchen doorway. The blade stopped.

"Promise me", Mafuari implored, her voice quivering uncontrollably, "that you will make it quick".

-

They were dying, they were all going to die! He had to save them, help them, warn them maybe. He wasn't sure how, or even if he could, but he had to do something! He couldn't let this beautiful paradise of an asari Alcatraz turn into a bloodbath. Whitefield ran a full ten meters in his blind dash of heroism when something snatched his wrist nearly sent him hurtling into the sand.

"We're leaving, Whitefield", the salarian commanded him. "Captain's orders".

"Screw the captain!" he screeched rudely, flailing furiously against the salarian's lanky grasp. It was no good. Kylon was surprisingly strong.

"I understand how you're feeling, but I'm afraid this isn't the way".

"Let me go!" the hoarse protests poured endlessly from the young human, but Kylon dragged his crewmate back to the ship, ignoring the hard sand that occasionally struck the back of his head.

It was too bad he'd left his helmet at the villa.

-

A bulbous helmet with an opaque visor sat upon the kitchen cabinet. Erevei tucked away this bit of information as she left the kitchen, deducing that at least one of the turian's crew had been a salarian. She had encountered only asari within the villa, and there were no heat signatures unaccounted for. Either the intruders had escaped, or were already dead. Their status was a secondary concern.

Eleven down, one to go.

She lifted her gaze, and the HUD in her optical implant blinked on. A single orange icon throbbed in the schematics for the villa's top floor.

Baharia.

Time to finish up.

-

"Then again, I don't know much about the asari penal codes, assuming there are any to speak of. Hard to generalize without any unified government. Much of their literature details the inefficiency of punishment and imprisonment as a deterrent to criminal behavior. They've even conducted longitudinal studies across species, which-"

"That will do, Kylon", Vorus held a single palm against the onslaught of words. "This still fails to explain why anyone would consider a beach resort suitable for a prison facility".

"Perhaps we're thinking of it the wrong way. The solitude itself might be the real punishment, here. Or, banishing the assumed punitive intent, this establishment may serve a completely different function". The salarian's natural capacity for nonlinear reasoning often allowed him to dominate intellectual discussion, but his limited experience here was only complemented by that of his captain's.

"Like what?" Whitefield asked impatiently, batting sand from his hair.

"There are many kinds of prisons", the turian observed.

"Maybe", the salarian offered, "they just wanted to put these asari someplace where they wouldn't be found".

"Yes", Vorus nodded. "Secrecy is involved here, obviously. Otherwise they wouldn't be trying to get us to leave in such a hurry".

"Your prison guard?" Kylon asked, almost amused.

"Some guard", Whitefield scoffed. "We were here a whole day before she even showed up".

"No one expected us to get here. Still… Do you really think it was an asari commando?" the salarian's eyes glistened, studying the captain's features. For a moment, he was silent.

"There are things worse than asari commandos", came his only response.


	16. Chapter 16

Baharia stood alone on the rooftop terrace. Southern winds brushed against her body, robes trailing light and white as the clouds above her.

It was commonly believed that an asari matriarch could never be taken by surprise. Vast experience allowed them to serve as social pillars, leaders and mentors in every field. So immense was the wisdom accumulated throughout their centuries that no experience could bear novelty, no possibility could go unaccounted for, and no event could be unforeseen. To kill a matriarch, then, would seem an impossible task.

Erevei specialized in such impossible tasks. She was a huntress.

The unique fiber mesh of Erevei's bodysuit dampened the effects of most biotic attacks. Baharia, being a matriarch, was similarly resistant. This forced a scenario in which biotic powers were only reliable when used indirectly. Erevei knew this, and ascended the stairs with her weapon drawn. Only when she found her target did the assault begin, an unseen clay pot hurdling toward her flank.

A sharp pain in the wrist, and her weapon was gone. She could not afford to take the time to locate the pistol and assess its functionality. Instinct took over, and Erevi launched herself at the matriarch. Baharia turned her head ever so gently, and Erevei was instantly tossed head over heels.

Wheeling aloft, the huntress snapped loose a calf pocket, its contents spilling out below her. Tiny black orbs bounced like hail onto the terrace. The matriarch's concentration broke momentarily, and she summoned all her strength to gather the orbs and hurl them off the roof before detonation. She succeeded, though not without dropping the huntress onto the adjacent balcony. Two orbs blasted into the sands below, craters of glass that rocked the foundation of the villa. Five flew out to sea, sending geysers of water and foam high into the air. The final grenade exploded only a few meters from the matriarch, a deafening pop with shards of stone and blackened clay showering upon her.

Erevei hoisted herself to the railing and vaulted back to the upper terrace. Baharia was struggling back to her feet, alabaster cloak soiled with debris and blood. Erevei stood beside her, silently waiting for her presence to be noted by the injured matriarch.

The blow to her abdomen was surprisingly powerful, causing Erevei to double over before falling to the floor. The matriarch lunged at her downed enemy, inadvertently throwing herself right into the huntress's trap. Scissoring her legs, Erevei knocked the enraged foe off balance. The matriarch's face struck stone with a sickening crack.

Erevei rose to her feet and breathed the bitter, scorched air.

-

"All systems online. Ready to-"

"What?" Vorus asked his pilot. "What is it?"

The salarian's gaze was fixated on the starboard window. Vorus looked, and saw the asari. Blue head on a sleek black bodysuit. His initial desire was to flee, get the Tiber airborne before she could reach them. But she wasn't running. Her gate was slow, almost staggered. Perhaps injured.

"Lower the ramp", he ordered.

"Captain, are you sure-"

"Now", Vorus commanded.

There was a gentle hum. The asari paused, her gaze meeting Vorus through the window. She couldn't really see him, though. Or could she?

Her expression was neutral, impossible to read. She headed for the boarding ramp.

"Captain, I must protest this. You were attacked by this asari once already, or have you forgotten?"

"Just doing her job, Kylon. Besides, I am curious. Aren't you?"

Kylon went silent. He was indeed curious, but he wasn't about to place that curiosity before his own safety. Standing, he made haste for the communications room, where Vorus had stashed a pistol in the fifth compartment from the entryway. Vorus might have been content to stand by and let the asari make the first move, but when it happened, Kylon would be prepared.

The asari boarded the Tiber without fanfare. She wore the same empty expression, and for a moment, Vorus remained equally stoic. He stood with his arms folded across his chest plate, then finally relaxed them at his side.

"There's medi-gel in the sleeping quarters", he gestured with a clawed appendage.

She said nothing, and headed in the direction indicated.


	17. Chapter 17

_Turians._

Kylon's mind ebbed and swirled like fluid around this conundrum.

They could be so bloody narrow-minded. Too trusting, perhaps. But that was not Vorus's flaw. He was just too dense. Saw things in simple forms, couldn't anticipate outcomes and process multiple factors the way he could. Not his fault, really. Turians knew how to wage war, but salarians knew how to end them.

And so it fell upon his shoulders to end this.

Footsteps approaching.

Slender digits wrapped around the pistol, checking the ammunition and safety in triplicate. He shakily leveled the weapon at the corridor, hoping to catch the intruder at their vulnerable flank.

The asari appeared. She paused in the corridor, apparently unarmed. When the blue face snapped toward his, he nearly squeezed the trigger in fright.

_It was like she knew he was there all along._

She produced a dark, bulbous object and offered it to him. Kylon took the salarian helmet without lowering the turian firearm. She departed very casually, as though the weapon never existed.

-

Using the forceps, Erevei carefully extracted the clay shard from her palm. Wrapped and packaged, she inserted the object in a spare trouser pocket for later disposal. She then cleaned and applied medigel to the wound, spreading the salve in the thin layer across the laceration. Then came the familiar sensation of cooling, followed by warming.

"Where to, asari?" came the question in a flanged voice.

"Home", she replied, sealing the medigel canister and returning it to its compartment.

"And where is that?" a new voice spoke up.

Erevei turned and saw the three members of the Tiber's crew standing astride a bulkead. The turian, the salarian, and the human. How quaint.

"Are you familiar with the Nameless Fleet?" she began.

No response, as expected.

"The Nameless Fleet is only a myth to those who have heard of it. Few have, most of them being matriarchs who prefer not to speak of it."

Whitefield glanced at his captain. Unflinching, as always.

"Soon after the asari became a spacefaring race, they discovered their ability to meld with other species. To reproduce with other species seemed to hold great power and wonder. An asari who wanted to maximize the cognitive powers of her offspring could find a salarian mate, for example. The salarians were one of the first species the asari came into contact with, and so many impressions were based upon our first contact with them."

Kylon remained silent, wary of any attempted flattery.

"Some asari were not so pleased with the discovery. One prefecture saw the act of mating with other species as weakening our own. A sort of backwards-pureblood philosophy. They claimed the salarians were so short-lived and reckless, they would be a danger to general order and peace. These ideas were tolerated, until they began to commit acts of violence against the salarian newcomers. Task forces were dispatched, and they were quickly exiled to the fringes of space."

"Like the quarians?" Whitefield asked.

"This was thousands of years before the quarian exodus. Their actions were officially attributed to rebels and raiders, and no asari would publicly acknowledge the exiled. Naturally, their existence would be detrimental to diplomatic efforts with the salarians."

"They should have been killed", Kylon murmured.

"Perhaps", Erevei nodded. "But that is not our way. Not before all other options have been exhausted."

"So this fleet is meant to be a secret, then?" the human asked.

"Of sorts", she said. "On occasion, a matriarch would send a gift of supplies or food to our fleet in exchange for a favor".

"What kind of favor?" asked the turian.

The asari folded her arms.

"As you know, we are not a cruel or punitive race. When someone needs help, we try our best to aid them, even when others would have them killed or locked away-"

"What favors did the matriarchs ask, asari?" the human grew impatient. He was disgusted with her line of work, and understandably so.

"They would send us prisoners. Asari who committed unspeakable acts and had no hope of rehabilitation or reintegration into mainstream society. They were sent to us."

"So they leave their scumbags with the fleet, and the fleet dumps them on some island villa?" the salarian interrupted.

Erevei lifted her eyes to Kylon, suddenly humbled and thoughtful.

"More or less", she said.

"And you killed them". Whitefield was grinding his molars. Kylon turned to his captain. Vorus was silent for several moments, then lifted his head to the asari.

"Why are you telling us this?" he asked.

"You deserve to know the truth", she said plainly. "And perhaps more. Lady Qua'la will decide."

Something hard slugged the salarian in the shoulder. He turned to Vorus and followed him to the bridge.

"Come on, Kylon. Let's get this bird in the air."


	18. Chapter 18

Charles Whitefield scratched at the stubble of his chin. He was tired, but could not find sleep. Sleeping pods were interesting, but he couldn't find much comfort in them. They felt particularly alien at the moment. He longed for his mattress, back home.

He stared at the asari across the bulkhead, stripping off her bodysuit. Propping herself against the counter, she poured medicinal salve from a metallic cylinder into her palm, then spread it across her long, powerful legs.

"These prisoners", he spoke flatly while we watched. "They were pretty bad characters. They deserved to die?"

"That is not for me to decide", Erevei said, still applying salve to her bare blue legs.

"Would be nice to know", Whitefield said.

"To know what?" she asked. "Their crimes? Why?"

"I don't know. It would probably upset me, actually."

"Truth is often upsetting."

The human sighed and shut his eyes. "Maybe it's better if I don't know, then".

-

The Nameless Fleet appeared as an elongated mass out the port window. Kylon thought they looked rather like a school of fish, silvery and sleek. The largest vessel appeared almost iridescent. He wondered how old the vessels were, given their condition. It was likely they acquired new ships through some nefarious means.

When the shuttle doors opened, they were blasted with a citrus-like perfume. As expected, the visitors were greeted by a crowd of asari. Eerily, most of them were standing as quiet observers. Curious and perhaps afraid, Kylon thought to himself. Most had probably never left their home in space, and seeing newsvids of other species wasn't really the same as seeing them in the flesh. They seemed particularly interested in Whitefield, probably because they had never encountered his species before. To them, he probably looked like an asari with bad skin.

Erevei guided them to a large conference room, where a statuesque asari in diplomatic attire stood to greet them. To Whitefield, she looked no older than forty, but he knew matriarchs lived for hundreds of years. A pair of lavender lines tapered from eyes to ears. She was flanked by two aides who were likely armed, Kylon surmised.

"Welcome aboard, Captain", she said, and gestured for them to sit. "I am Matriarch Qua'la. Can I offer you any refreshments?"

Vorus declined, and sat between his crewmates at the opposite side of the table. Whitefield looked for Erevei, but she had already slipped out of the room unnoticed.

"I only knew of the Nameless Fleet because of my mother. It was a childhood story, nothing more. As a maiden, I managed an agro-business, a job that required much travel. That was how I first encountered the Fleet."

Kylon shifted uncomfortably in his seat.

"When I asked them for permission to come aboard, they were hesitant. Surprised, I think. And when I got there, I realized how foolish my beliefs had been. The first generation of asari might have been uncharacteristically violent, but these were their offspring. They seemed to be so peaceful, and so intrigued by my presence. They were more like children than violent fanatics. I started sending food shipments, in secret. When my mother found out what I was doing, she was outraged. So I left."

"And you remained here," Vorus said. "Matriarch of the Nameless Fleet".

"Handling the garbage that no one else dares to touch", Kylon added.

"Understand that this is a rare occurrence. The prisoners sent to us aren't merely murderers. To find an asari so deeply disturbed, so far beyond our comprehension that she must be cast out… It almost never happens. By the time they are sent to us, their lives are already forfeit. Either we execute them, or someone eventually kills them as an act of vengeance."

"So, they are isolated?" the human asked. "Left alone in a villa, is that how you handle it?"

"The planet you refer to, which we have named V-53, is not like other planets. I once considered it a point of colonization, someplace the Fleet could call home. A colonial effort was established several centuries ago. It seemed to be full of potential, but after a few years, our colonists began to realize that nothing would grow there. The seas were completely empty. No life. And something else. Something about the weather patterns."

"Weather patterns?" the salarian asked.

"Storms. Violent storms that came every so often and flooded the entire planet. There was no practical solution for this, and we could not afford to conduct any advanced terraforming. I ordered the colonists to return to the Fleet. The storm subsided. The colonists insisted that they return, so I let them. When they returned, so did the storms."

"That doesn't mean anything", Kylon noted aloud.

"True", the matriarch agreed. "But we continued to observe this planet over the centuries, and the storms would occur at regular intervals. Every 53 years."

"53 years?" Kylon scoffed. "That's no danger, when you can easily predict it."

"The storms only came when someone was on the planet's surface."

The salarian grew quiet. It was true that certain artificial electrical fields could show a demonstrable effect on weather patterns, and accumulated buildup of toxic gases could alter atmospheric conditions, but this was something far different.

"If that is the case", the salarian said, "this planet is somehow responsive to the presence of biomass. It knows when something is living on its surface."

"Wait. What are you saying, Kylon?" the human piped up. "The planet is _alive_?"

"As I said," the matriarch spoke with reassurance, "the lives of the prisoners were forfeit. It was decided to put them to some use, and so they were sent to the planetside villa."

"Where they would eventually drown in the flooding," the turian observed.

"Yes", said Qua'la. "Death by drowning. Not a pleasant end, but at least their deaths served a purpose. We have been replicating this private experiment for centuries. Hopefully, for the benefit of the greater good."

"Then why have them executed, this latest 'batch' of prisoners?" Whitefield demanded.

"That was for your own safety", said the matriarch. "And we could not risk their escape."

"Escape?" said Whitefield. "They never tried to escape, they were generous and warm."

"Were they?" Vorus asked his navigator. "Setting out food for the human and salarian, but nothing for the turian."

"What?" Whitefield began his irksome whine. "It's not their fault if they don't have-"

"Baharia, their matriarch", Vorus said. "She knew I was the biggest threat to her escape. Without food, there would be no reason for me to stay in the villa. I wouldn't have been able to interfere."

_Erevei saved us_, Whitefield thought to himself.

"Surely they attempted to mate with you," the matriarch suggested. "The melding of minds, passing of thoughts and memories. Once they had the knowledge required to operate your vessel, they would be able to escape."

"The navigator and pilot", Whitefield whispered in disbelief.

"I have told you what we know. You are welcome to stay with the Fleet as our guest," the matriarch said, rising from her seat.

"I'm sorry, but we must be going," Vorus replied. "Thank you for your time."

The salarian leaned over to his captain as the room emptied.

"I still have questions", he said.

"She has shared all she wishes to" the turian replied.

Vorus gently swatted at the human, breaking him out of his vacant stare.

As they made their way back to the Tiber, they received similar stares from the Fleet population. Vorus told himself he would vomit if he had to look at another blue face that day. Behind them trudged their human navigator, shaking his head in bewilderment.

_I can't believe I was brain-raped!_


	19. Chapter 19

"But he couldn't eat the pastry and steer the rudder at the same time."

"Why not?" the salarian asked, scrutinizing the pastry ring in his hand.

"Well", Whitefield shrugged "The helmsman had to concentrate. So he impales the pastry on the ship's steering wheel. That way, he can remove it when he wants to eat it. And that's how the donut is born."

"Ingenious. But how do you impale something on a wheel?"

"It's got these prongs sticking out. The handles, they radiate from the center."

"Doesn't sound like a very efficient design."

"It was an early ship, a marine vessel. Sailing the seas, you know?"

"But if he ate the donut, eventually it would lose its integral looped structure. It would fall right off the handle."

"Look, I don't have all the answers, alright? It's just a story. You asked where donuts came from."

"If they came from steering wheels and the decks of filthy ships, I'm not sure I find them so appetizing anymore."

"Good" said the human, cheeks puffed with pastry. "More for me." Whitefield reached for the pastry in the salarian's lanky hand, but Kylon reflexively pulled it away and stuffed it in his mouth.

"Kylon", the captain called as he approached. "You have it?"

The salarian dusted powdered sugar from his hands as he stood.

"I do", he said. "I thought you'd want to wait."

"Have what?" the human asked.

"Just bring it up on the main screen."

"Right away, Captain."

"Bring what up?" the human repeated, words obscured by mushy dough. He followed his crewmates to the communications center. When he arrived, he saw Vorus standing at the control panel and Kylon slipping something into the processing drive.

"What is that?"

The room flickered in blue as the screen came to life. Columns of dense text scrolled wildly, which Whitefield figured Kylon was doing on purpose since only he would be able to decipher the words at such a speed. The text suddenly disappeared, and in its place, a time-lapsed video played. A sand colored structure sat in the center of an island, crisp blue water as far as the eye could see.

"Hey, that's the villa!" the human shouted, bits of donut spraying from his lips.

Kylon ignored the human's yelps. Whitefield was admittedly amusing, but annoyingly sluggish. As the video continued to play at tremendous speed, the sky darkened and the atmosphere became grey. The sea level rose, spewing waves and foam, engulfing the tiny island. Suddenly, the entire villa was submerged in choppy waters. The air cleared, and only the ocean was visible.

"I'll be damned", the human said. "The matriarch wasn't lying. How'd you get this recording?"

"The seas are very turbulent during the storm", Kylon noted. "But once they subside…"

The water level receded, exposing the villa and island beaches to an extent greater than visible at the video's beginning.

"Goes back down," Vorus said aloud. "And then some."

"Where'd the water go?" asked Whitefield.

"May I suggest", the salarian offered, "that it evaporated?"

"Very drastically, I might add" said Vorus. The turian suddenly recalled white speckled patterns across a grave, blue visage.

_Be respectful of the waters._

The video continued to play, and the sea level finally appeared to stabilize.

"Water couldn't evaporate that quickly," Whitefield argued. "Not in that quantity, not even close."

"Unless it boils" Kylon said flatly.

He paused the playback.

"Boiling is a function not merely of temperature, but of pressure. Helium has a low boiling point, but this is-"

"Right", said Whitefield. "You'd have to pop an awful lot of balloons."

"As I was saying," the salarian continued, "Changes in atmosphere can affect the boiling point as well. Either way, something in or around that planet is causing massive fluctuations-"

"Boiling. Jeez. No wonder the water couldn't support life. Does this mean the asari were boiled alive, not just drowned? That's really-"

"Whitefield, please" said the captain.

The human quieted. Kylon remained poised, almond eyes reflecting blue light.

"The most obvious conclusion", the salarian proposed, "is that something is under the water. Something that reacts to the presence of organic life on the planet's surface, at fifty three year intervals. Something that our sensors failed to detect, yet produces enough heat or pressure to alter the atmospheric conditions of the planet."

"Something big" said Vorus.

"Yes," the salarian nodded. "Something big."


	20. Chapter 20

In an uncharted quadrant of space, the Tiber decelerated. Thick hull ignored the scorch and glow of atmospheric entry, black bulk entering the azure skies like an insect, flitting free in the afternoon sun. As it completed its descent, the vessel hovered gently over its destination, but did not land.

Below the Tiber sat a golden villa, surrounded by silt and sand. The beach cascaded rapidly. The villa was no longer an island in the water, but a mountaintop fortress, alone in the fog-laden sky. In the distance, great crags and valleys laced the landscape. Towering canyons, mountain ranges, brackish dunes, and trenches deeper than the eye can see, all decorated the surface of the planet. There was no water in sight. Stony cliffs of reddish clay and blackened deserts with sandy slopes were all that remained.

"What the hell is this?" Whitefield stuttered.

For several minutes, there was no answer.

"I think", Kylon spoke at last, "the water is gone."

The Tiber's shadow blanketed the villa, immaculate save for the crumpled rooftop terrace.

"This thing," said Vorus, "whatever it was, produced enough heat to vaporize all the water on the planet's surface."

"Sensors are picking up something," Whitefield spoke excitedly, face illuminated in the amber of his omni-tool. "Got coordinates for some kind of massive tear in the planet's crust."

"Couldn't hurt to have a look", said the salarian, leaning into the flight controls and sending the Tiber soaring through the air.

_Famous last words_, the turian thought to himself.

-

The Tiber followed a massive trench that widened into a vast crater. Topographical analysis revealed each trench as a splitting tear, a mere side effect of the cracking crust from some unprecedented seismic activity at the crater center. When at last the ship reached the crater, the salarian nearly shrieked.

The salarian realized they were not overlooking a crater, but a boundless hole. An endless, gaping blackness, extending further than he cared to imagine.

"Dang," the navigator whistled. "This thing is over two kilometers deep."

The salarian shook off his fear.

"Should I take her down, Captain?"

"No, Kylon. Get us out of here."

_You needn't ask me twice._ Kylon brought the Tiber back above the crater, its periphery burnt to a black char.

"Wait, you're just going to leave?" the human protested. "Aren't you curious?"

"About certain things," replied the turian. "Yes. But some things are best left unknown."

"Are you kidding? Something was under the crust, here. It produced enough heat to boil off a planet-wide ocean, and then…"

Charles Whitefield silenced himself.

"It's gone, isn't it?"

His crewmates said nothing.

"It left. Whatever was buried in here, for however long it was in there… it's gone. I mean, it's out there somewhere. Some kind of ancient-"

"That will do, Whitefield," the captain raised a clawed hand to his navigator.

The Tiber exited the system without leaving any trace of its passing through. The world sat silent, desolate, and lifeless once more. Its only occupants were the sands and the wind.

-

"So how'd you do it?"

The salarian cocked its reddish, wedge-shaped head at the human.

"Do what?"

"Get the video", said Whitefield. "You hacked the Fleet's datastream, didn't you?"

"I'm sure I don't know what you're talking about."

"Come on, Kylon. I've seen the spy vids. You can get stealth virus transmitters and OSDs with flash-copiers and all that crap. You, especially. I know you love gadgets."

"I think you're imagining things."

Whitefield sighed. Both Vorus and Kylon seemed content to ignore everything that had happened on the uncharted world. He didn't understand their response, and could only hope to write it off as an "alien thing". But someone, someday, would go back there. Given the recent turn of events, he was perhaps fortunate that he wouldn't have to be part of it.

Maybe that was why they were content to stay quiet.

"I just got off the com with our director," Vorus grunted as he made his way across the bridge. "He wants to give you a full-time posting aboard the Tiber, Whitefield."

"I thought the captain decided on that sort of thing," said the human.

"No. Company takes recommendations from crew."

"You recommended me."

"No," Vorus shook his spiked head.

"No?" Whitefield frowned, then grinned. "But that would only leave one other crewmember."

"Don't take it personally," the salarian shot back, never turning from the flight console. "All I care about are the donuts."

Whitefield laughed. _The salarian was a big softy, after all_.

"It is fitting," added Vorus. "Despite some misguided behavior, you never lost footing. Your curiosity drove us. You guided us where we needed to go."

"Oh, that was nothing, Captain," the human feigned embarrassment, then added "I'm your navigator. That's my role, isn't it?"

The turian's olive cheek flaps flickered, though whether amused or agitated, Whitefield couldn't tell.

"You kept your head above water, so to speak," Vorus said, his tone softening. "It's a big galaxy, and it will overtake you, eventually. Until then, all you can do is keep yourself from drowning."

The human's smile faded. The turian, salarian, and human cast their gaze out the cockpit window, into the vastness of space and starry unknown.


End file.
